


The Static Speaks My Name

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Both in high school, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Louis is one year ahead of Harry, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, depressed!harry, larry stylinson - Freeform, that sort of thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had always been optomistic. It was how he was born; a natural optomist. However, one-too-many wrong turns down streets filled with bad ideas, had caused Harry to develop Clinical Depression. He felt worthless, broken, like a faded memory that was never revived. His best friend of many years starts to notice the changes and wants to help him feel better.</p><p>Or the one where Louis helps Harry overcome his depression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Since birth, Harry had been outgoing. There was virtually no one he wouldn't talk to, and although it concerned his parents a bit (considering they always had to remind him not to talk to strangers) it was a good thing. He would have no trouble going to the park with two friends and winding up with three more. He was just a social person, and nothing would change his love and need for companionship.

Or so he thought.

By the age of seven or so, Harry's world was turned upside down in ways he hadn't imagined possible in his early life. From his bedroom he could hear his parents fighting about everything and anything. Within a year they were divorced. He was torn from the town he knew so well - a small town, really, but it was home. It was cozy and familiar - and was moved to Doncaster. Not too far away, but still far enough. He had to say goodbye to his school mates, his teachers, and daycare attendants. He said goodbye to everything he called safe and turned a corner into a new chapter.

"You love to meet new people, Harry, you'll be fine," his mum reassured him on the first day of starting a new school. For the most part, everything went smoothly. Except for the time in year five when his "friends" locked him in the school restroom, using the janitor's keys they had stolen from the supply closet. He slapped his palm against the restroom door for several minutes, yelling for someone to get him out. It was, of course, the only day when the janitor had been too sick to attend his job that day and everyone went back into class early due to the rain. Harry remembered this time more vividly than not for two main reasons: one, it was the first time he ever cried at school. Two, it was the first time he met Louis Tomlinson, soon to be best friend.

Harry sank against the door, wrapping his arms around his knees and just letting his tears soak his T-shirt. He had on the same thing everyone else had on at that school: a white polo and khakis. As he sat there on the floor, seemingly alone, he let his mind wander. How long was he going to be in here? Should he tell the principal what happened? More importantly, should he inform his mum? These things bounced around Harry's mind, while he heard the sqeak of a bathroom stall. He froze, realizing that he hadn't even considered the fact that someone else might be in here. It was quiet for a moment, but then he heard soft steps toward him. The footsteps stopped, and he could tell the person was standing a mere few feet away from him.

"Are you alright?" The voice was soft and, if Harry was being honest, quite endearing. He slowly lifted his head to see another boy standing in fron of him. He wasn't in Harry's class, but he didn't look younger, so he must've been in year six. He was wearing a red and white striped shirt with faded red shorts. He also had black-rimmed glasses that stood in front of his bright blue eyes - a sharp contrast to his dark brown hair.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I'm alright." The older boy stood there awkwardly for a second before extending his hand to Harry. Harry grasciousily accepted, being hoisted up so he was on his feet. He quickly swiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks, and sniffeled, causing a small smile to play on the lips of the boy in front of him.

"I'm Louis," He announced suddenly, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"Harry."

"Why were you crying?" Louis asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. Harry took note of the white Sperry Top-Siders he had on, remembering that he had been beggin his mum for those shoes for months.

Harry shrugged, "The bathroom's locked," he didn't know why, but he suddenly found himself blushing.

"Locked? From the outside? That's impossible," Louis walked over to the door, yanking on the handle to no avail. He yanked on it a few more times, ending with the same result.

"How the fuck did the door get locked?" Louis cursed. Harry widened his eyes at that, knowing his mum always taught him not to curse. He shouldn't be associating with Louis.

"M-my friends. They got the janitor's keys-" Harry said, stopping short when Louis interupted him.

"Some friends those are," He pulled on the door one more time and Harry wondered why Louis wouldn't just give up. He stopped pulling the handle, and sunk his hands by his side, silently admitting defeat. He turned back around to Harry and abruptly sat on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked.

"Well, since we're probably going to be here for awhile, I'd thought we could get to know each other," As Harry sat down in front of him, Louis added, "Tell me about yourself Harry."

It wasn't thirty minutes later that the assistant-principal showed up with the keys she most likely took from the boys and opened the door for them. Two normal people wouldn't have had much to say to each other, but while Harry was (at this point) completely normal, Louis had no problem doing both sides of the conversation. He chatted Harry's ear off with anything that came to mind, yet Harry was far from annoyed. They found out they live right across from each other and have simliar interests, so when they went their seperate ways for the day, they promised to ask their mums if they could hang out over the weekend.

And so they did. Not only did they get together that weekend, but during recess, and pretty much every weekend their mums would allow. They were inseperable; joined at the hips, almost. When they each got phones, they had the opprotunity to spend even more time together - texts, phone calls, and Louis' personal favorite: FaceTime. To Harry, Louis was a very special and important person in his life. He wanted to share everything with Louis, and that included everything. However, over the years, Harry found himself becoming more and more reserved, not getting out of the house or meeting new people unless it was compulsory. This may have had to do with the many trials that he started facing throughout his youth, aswell.

It was during Harry's seventh year that his mum started dating again. She met a great new man who went by the name of Chad, and Harry was sure he wanted his new father to be Chad. He was great to Anne, great to Harry, and great to fill the father role that had been so absent. However, one day, something unbeknownst to Harry caused Chad to storm out of their house in a fit of anger. His mum went calling after him and Harry found himself eating dinner alone that evening. Chad was never to be seen again, to both of their dismay. So between Harry's birth father, his childhood friends, and Chad, he learned a very valuable lesson at a very young age: The ones you love the most are the ones who leave the quickest.

Of course, being the great friend he was, Louis listened to Harry complain about everything, offered advice, and kept his mouth shut when it was necessary. Sometimes, he would just let Harry come over and cry on his shoulder while Louis flipped through the TV finding a show that would cheer the both of them up. Due to their strong bond, when one was unhappy, the other was too, and they usually found solace in each other, loads of sweets and a "Say Yes to the Dress" marathon.

During year nine, though, Harry noticed a shift in himself. He wasn't finding women attractive like the people on the telly told him he should. Rather, he was finding his heart skip a beat at the really cute punk guy next door, or his substitute maths teacher who looked alot younger than he probably was. More significantly, though, he found himself relentlessly attracted to his best friend. It started with lingering looks to Louis' lips, mock-romantic guestures that secretly made Harry swoon, and one-second-too-long touches that led to Harry squealing on the inside. It wasn't supposed to turn into anything more than a fondness. It wasn't supposed to turn into him wanking in the shower to the way Louis looked in those tight jeans and fitted shirts.

As if that wasn't enough to push Harry further inside his sad little shell, he started to notice differences in the way he looked at himself. He didn't think they were bad, he just thought they were...well, different. He stopped being able to look good in any pair of clothes, and always left the house dissatisfied with himself. It got to a point where he actually started disliking himself as a person, unable to look at himself in the mirror for more than a minute without cringing. Sometimes he did it anyway, though; forced himself to stare into his reflection until every single flaw and insecurity became clear. He started getting angry with himself at how stupid he always sounded, how fucking pathetic he really and truly was.

He had no trouble letting his thoughts spiral downwards until he had himself thinking about how much happier everyone would be if he just one day stopped breathing. He wanted that to happen, oh boy did he want that to happen. There was a voice at the back of his head, however, reminding him of how wrong he was. Of course, that was only a small percentage of him, for most of his conscious and subconcious was fine at the idea of his existance no longer being true. These are the few things he didn't share with Louis. No matter how badly he wanted to, he could not share his deepest and darkest thoughts with his best mate of many years. He knew he wouldn't understand and would probably ask Harry to seek help of some sort.

Harry didn't want help, though. That was the thing.

Depression was the only thing Harry could rely on, could fall back to when things got tough. As ridicolous as it sounded, Depression never let him down. It was always there, always familiar, and always constant. It didn't leave, it didn't change, and although it fucked shit up, there was a certain comfort in knowing that it would always be there. These were among the many things that made Harry realize he wasn't normal, and that he was probably never going to be normal. Yet it never stopped him from hanging out with Louis and enjoying that beautiful smile every chance he got because sooner or later, he wouldn't be here. And who else would love that crinkle-eyed smile as much as him?

****

"There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't want to go the beach on a hot Saturday afternoon, Harry," Louis claimed, laying on his bed stomach down. He was scrolling through the weather news feed for the week and found out that it was supposed to be almost 30 degrees (Celcius) on Saturday. He wanted to go to the beach, and being the wonderful, amazing friend he was, he was going to drag Harry along with him.

"The beach just doesn't appeal to me, Lou," He stated candidly, laying on his back so he had to move his head diagonally to meet Louis' eyes. His head was right by the keyboard, so he could feel the warmth radiating from underneath the computer. For a brief moment, he wondered if it could catch his hair on fire.

"What are you talking about? You used to love going to the beach. You were practically there every weekend last summer."

Harry shrugged at that. It wasn't false: ever since Harry was a child, he always loved the sand, bright skies, and salty beach water that somehow always found it's way in your mouth and up your nose. He adored how when you inhaled the air by the ocean, it never ceased to fill your lungs with the cleanest and purest air. He remembers building sandcastles with his older sister when he was young and pulling funny faces every time his mum tried to take a picture of them two. He smiled at the memory and wondered why it was that he was suddenly finding the beach uninteresting and unnapealing. He thought long and hard, sprouting no success. He didn't know why he didn't want to go the beach anymore, he just... didn't.

"Well, yeah, but...I don't know. People change," He faded off at the end of his sentence, fixing his gaze back up to the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Louis looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

He turned his attention, "What?"

"Are you okay, mate?"

Mate. Mate. Louis had called him that all of the time, and it never felt so wrong until now. It hit Harry like a ton of bricks that he didn't want to be just "mates." He hadn't wanted it in the longest time, and he certainly didn't want it now. He would settle for being just mates, though, because he loved Louis. Much to his dismay, he was in love. It sounded to surreal, coming from the mind of a sixteen-year-old.

He liked it better when Louis called him "love."

Harry kept his gaze fixed on Louis, "Why?"

He frowned, "You seem so down recently."

Harry blew a puff of air upwards to keep his hair from falling out of his eyes. Blush spread from his chest to his face when Louis used his soft hand to carefully push the fly-aways out of Harry's face; gaze completely concentrated on every inch of Harry's face. When their eyes locked, Harry grew even hotter and quickly trained his eyes back on the ceiling.

"C'mon, Harold. Turn that frown upside down," Louis said in a sing-songy voice as he absent-mindedly traced his fingertips all over Harry's face. Harry smirked at Louis' complete obliviousness to how adorable he was.

Louis gasped, "You're smiling!"

"Oh, shut up," Harry chuckled, putting his hands over his face. He couldn't see anything because of this, but soon found that to be a bad idea on his part, as he uncovered his eyes to find Louis straddling him at the waist.

"What're you- NO!" Harry squealed as Louis started tickling him all over. His tiny fingers dug themselves all over Harry's torso and under his arms, making Harry try to fold his knees into himself, however, failing because Louis' body cut him off halfway. He was squirming underneath him, begging and gasping for air.

"Okay- I-I Louis, stop!" He gasped, trying to get as many words out as he could in between squeals and laughs and giggles.

"Say you'll go to the beach with me!" Louis shouted. Harry, of course, shook his head, only causing Louis to dig his fingers in deeper, getting Harry to laugh harder.

"Okay, okay! I promise! I promise!" With one final poke at the ribs, Louis relented, sitting back on Harry's thighs.

As Harry's last laugh was escaping his lips, Louis slowly took Harry's wrists and pinned them on the matress above his head.

"Lou," Harry meant to say more, but suddenly Louis was so close that his breathing was cut off short. In the same, yet different way it was cut off mere seconds ago.

"You have a beautiful smile, Harry. I demand to see it more often," He said in a low voice. He himself was smiling, yet there was an undertone in his voice that suggested more than friendship. Harry could only guess though, considering Harry never heard this sort of a tone escape his lips. He really hoped Louis didn't feel his cock twitch as he grasped the fact that Louis' face was hardly an inch from his, and all it would take is one movement of his hips to have them grinding against each other. Harry's hips slightly rutted up at that thought, and a different sort of smirk placed itself on Louis' face. He didn't say anything more, though, as he rolled himself off of Harry making a slight "oof" sound, and he got back on his stomach and opened his laptop back up. Harry propped himself up on his hands and properly stared at Louis, the only thing in his mind being: What the actual fuck was that?

"So, I figure we'll leave at around one on Saturday, because the nearest beach is about an hour and a half away. Sound good?"

After a moment he replied, "Y-yeah. Great. Sounds great."

It only took a second for Harry to wonder why the atmosphere in the room changed so suddenly. Louis Tomlinson - giggly, light, pretty Louis Tomlinson - just let his voice drop an octive or two into probably the sexiest thing Harry had ever heard in his life. He wanted more, no doubt. The thought of wanking when he got home crossed his mind, but he then remembered that his mum was gone the whole weekend, and Gemma being off at Uni, Harry decided to stay at Louis'. He was spending the night here. He could survive a night without anything contributing to his semi, right? Louis had been his best friend for years; as usual, Harry was most likely over-thinking things.

He was, right?

****

Harry lay in bed, suffering through nothing short of a crisis. Well, he lay in Louis' bed, anyway. It was close enough to his bed, had been for many years since Harry stopped sleeping on the couch after about their third time sleeping over together. Louis was still sitting up watching Katy Perry's new concert movie, while Harry layed with his eyes shut, desperate for any type of sleep to overtake him. He was feeling restless and he didn't know why. There wasn't anything on his mind that he should've been loosing sleep over, yet he was. He felt this urge - this need that he hadn't ever felt before. He needed some sort of quick relief. Something that would numb the pain of his mind and ease the rattling of his uncleansed thoughts. They thought of taking it out on himself physically occured to him.

He'd seen people do it before, so it couldn't have been that bad right? The thought of slicing his skin open with a sharp object made his body shiver with an eerie tingle, causing him to turn so that he was on his side, facing the wall. He heard Louis sigh behind him and shut the TV off. Louis went through his usual nightly routine of exfoliating and whatever else he did that kept his skin so soft, when he finally entered the bedroom again. At this point, Harry was almost completely unconscious. He hardly registered what was going on around him, except for when Louis got into his usual spot on the other side of the bed, asking quietly, "Harry? Are you awake?"

Harry didn't respond, being far too tired to say anything, and knowing that if Louis really needed something he would ask again. Instead, he just heard a chuckle from behind him as Louis settled so that his chest was pressed flush against Harry's back, as Louis wrapped an arm around him. This wasn't unusual - cuddling was something they were both very accustom to, being as though they were naturally just affectionate people. They often comforted each other with hugs and cuddles and the occasional kiss on the forehead. Many times, Harry would come over to Louis' house late at night, trying to be careful not to wake the Tomlinson family up, and would sneak into Louis' bed after a particularly rough episode of fighting between his parents. And of course, Harry had a window in his bedroom that he would unlock when Louis texted him in the middle of the night that he was coming over because he had a nightmare.

That was one thing that always baffeled Harry. He knew that, for the most part, Louis' life had been pretty laid-back and an easy ride. His parents divorced when Louis was young, but he was so young that he didn't even remember his father. His mum got married several years later, and everything had been good since then, minus the deaths of a few distant relatives. So when Louis called Harry late at night because he had an extremely vivid nightmare that truly scared the fuck out of him, Harry did his best to console the lad, usually wiping his heavy-lidded eyes in the process. Those conversations would usually end up with a "I'll unlock the window for you, okay?" or "Sure, I'll be there in two minutes." Most of the time, however, they cuddled for no other reason than they liked the company of each other.

So when Louis snuggled up against Harry's back and wrapped an arm around him, he wasn't fazed in the slightest. He was fazed, though, when he felt Louis' lips lightly press against the back of Harry's neck.

Okay, he thought, That was new.

"Goodnight, Hazza," Were Louis' last words as he shut his eyes, willing for sleep to come when it may. Harry shifted his hand, and with the most cautious of movements, tangled it with Louis'. He felt Louis' breath hitch from behind him, and there was no way Louis wouldn't know that Harry was awake now. He had to realize it, and wow, Harry's chest started heating up in embarassment. Instead of questioning it, or pulling back, though, Louis just sqeezed Harry's hand, letting him know so many things. Louis breathed a content sigh and let his body go completely lax as he lulled into sleep.

Neither of them sleep quite as well as they do when they're together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SELF-HARM

Harry had never felt so alone in moments like these. In moments where he was lying in his bedroom, watching some stupid re-run of a mindless TV show, not even bothering to know what it was. He stared blankly, and if you ask him, he wasn't even looking at the television. He was looking straight through it, straight through the wires and cords and cables, through the walls and trees beyond, through the mountains that seemed to stretch on for indefinate measures of time. He was looking at all of this, but at the same time, he wasn't.  
  
He never felt so empty.  
  
The night before, when he was laying in Louis' bed, tucked against Louis' body, he felt invulnerable. No disturbing thought would penetrate it's way into his mind, and no doubt of anything would clog up his throat and burn his ribcage. He was always safe with Louis, always. It was a fact. So when he lay here, in his bed, with no one or nothing around him, he felt more than vulnerable.  
  
He felt empty.  
  
Although this feeling of emptiness washed over him constantly, this one was different. He felt a wave of heat rush through his bones, calling, aching for something. For _something._ He needed some sort of physical relief. He felt like screaming. Yes, he could scream. He could punch a wall, maybe break a mirror. That would for sure get his frustration out. His frustration of not understanding what was going on inside of him, of wanting but not having, and of complete and utter self-demise. Harry needed something to take his mind off of his mind.  
  
He got up from his bed, and started scrounging around his pencil holder, finally finding a pencil sharpener. This is how you do it, right?  
  
He opened the pencil sharpener, not allowing his mind to process what he was about to do. Easily, the seal containing the razor broke and it took a lot less time than Harry had predicted. He used the extra hand sanitizer in his backpack to wipe it down a bit. He was going to do this. He didn't even know exactly why, just figured he needed to - his heart was pounding with anticipation as he crossed his room to lock the door, razor still in hand. As he twisted it around in his palm, he couldn't help but have a nagging voice in his head that was just yelling at him to put it down, pick up the phone, and dial Louis. Louis always calmed him down. Whenever Harry got riled up, Louis would be the first person he would text, call, or go to, no matter how big or small the situation was. So, naturally, if he wasn't having an internal collapse, he would call Louis. It would be the right thing to do.  
  
His brain wasn't registering the "right thing" at that moment - no, it was registering something far bigger and vast, something incomprehensible to any normal person with a solid emotional foundation. Harry didn't have that, though; wasn't accustom to it.  
  
So, instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, rolling up his sleeve to expose the milky skin that lay there. His skin was pale and completely unblemished. He wasn't a very rough person in general, so he didn't get scars or bruises very often, leaving a large stamp of innocence upon his demeanor.  
  
Harry chuckled at the thought.  
  
He brought the blade down to the inside of his wrist, immediate heat shooting up his torso. He was really doing this. Really, _properly_ doing this. He didn't give his mind much time to think, however, when he quickly and lightly slid the blade across his skin, hardly making a mark. He remained static the entire time - eyes fixated on the scene before him and heart beating out of his chest. It wasn't until he saw the cut slowly become more and more red until little crimson bubbles were coming forth out of the cut. It wasn't like how he expected at all. He was expecting more blood. More pain. He didn't even realize he hadn't been breathing until he exhaled what breath he did have after a few seconds of contimplating everything. He suddenly felt fuzzy - not from blood loss, that's for sure, but he felt this odd sense off... exhilaration? Was that even the right word for it?  
  
Well, it didn't matter, as he was already bringing the blade down again on his skin, marking a second, more deep cut. This one started bleeding sooner and in more quantities, and blood started slipping down the side of his wrists as he examined the paths. He didn't want to clean it up, not just yet. As sick as it sounded, there was a cetain pride almost in watching the blood drip. It wasn't much, only a small, inconsistent stream (if that) and a few drops not full enough to drip yet, still forming on the first cut. His heart was beating extremely fast and his whole body prickled with heat, yet his mind was completely blank. He almost didn't register his front door opening and shutting until the sound reached him, causing him to have a mini-heart attack.  
  
"Shit!" He cursed silently. He sprang up from his bed, rushing into the bathroom that was connected. With shaking hands (When did they start shaking?) he unraveled a fair amount of toilet paper, and swiped across the cuts fast, wincing at the pain. Interesting. He winced at the pain now, but hadn't bat an eye just minutes before. Huh.  
  
Shaking his head, he dabbed the cuts, making sure to put enough pressure to stop the bleeding, but not illicit more pain. He wondered why he was almost sad to see the blood go. There was some sort of sick satisfaction in whatching yourself bleed. Harry couldn't even explain it, hadn't even begin to understand it.  
  
He heard his doorhandle jiggle, "Harry?"  
  
And of course. Of fucking course. It wasn't his mum coming back from the store, not his sister that he thought might've stopped by for a visit (Was it a holiday today? He wasn't sure. What day was it?) It was his best friend, Louis Tomlinson. He loved Louis, but the boy wasn't exactly known for his good timing,  
  
"Harry, are you in here?" A soft voice asked again. It must've been weird for Louis, because Harry didn't normally lock his bedroom door, and Louis was so accustom to just walking in via the fact that he was basically a part of the family, so he didn't have to think twice about opening the door and walking through. Harry quite liked that, actually.  
  
"Y-yeah, I'm using the bathroom. Give me a second!" He finally stuttered. He could almost hear the confusion radiating off of Louis from the bathroom as he tried to get the bleeding to stop, suddenly frantic when he realized he was only just wearing a normal T-shirt, not at all hiding his fresh cuts.  
  
"Harold," this time the voice had a tentative edge to it, "Are you...Are you wanking in there?"  
  
Of fucking course he thought that.  
  
Harry just sighed, throwing the bloody paper in the bin before opening the door, and stepping to open his bedroom, remembering that his cuts weren't covered the second he saw Louis' face. Louis looked skeptical, knowing Harry and reading him like a book. He was wearing a fitted blue shirt and khaki shorts - one of Harry's favorite outfits on him. Not that Louis couldn't pull off wearing a trash bag.  
  
"Are you alright?" Louis asked, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Yeah, I'm good. 'M fine. Yeah," After Louis' eyebrow went up even further, Harry continued, "I was- I was just," He couldn't take the complete confusion in Louis' eyes, so he playfully shoved him in the shoulder. "What are you staring at, mate?" He chuckled.  
  
"Harold, you look so sketchy right now. Were you just dealing drugs or something?" He teased, taking a quick look around the room for good meausure. Harry was about to lift his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, when he remembered the cuts (as if he forgot them) and quickly shooed the thought. Louis noticed the weird twitch of his hand he just actually did, and started to look a bit concerned, "Are you actually okay, though, Harry? What's going on?" Louis took his hand and linked it with Harry's, thankfully the one that was still without irritation.  
  
Harry heart skipped a beat at the unexpected, yet most certainly welcome contact, "No, yeah, I'm good. I just wasn't expecting anyone, 's all."  
  
Louis nodded slowly, and waited a second before responding, "Okay, well, anyway. I just wanted to see if you wanted to catch a movie with me. My house is crazy right now, being as all the girls have their friends over." Louis rubbed circled into Harry's hand with his thumb and suddenly Harry wondered if this is what completely platonic friends do.  
  
"Yeah, I'd love to," Harry commented, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as Louis beamed at him. He vaguely noted that there was a changed air between them. It wasn't bad, for sure. There was just something different. Harry had only been talking to Louis for a few seconds now, but he sensed a healthy change. For a second, Harry thought it was because they mututally had feelings toward each other, but quickly hushed the thought remembering that Louis was, in fact, straight. He was taking interest in a girl, for Christ sakes. They all went to school together, and she was really nice. Pretty too, that one. Her name was Eleanor, and if Harry had to choose any girl for Louis, it'd be her.  
  
He tried to remember that whenever he saw them together. They were currently on summer vacation, after all, even if they were starting school in two weeks. Harry's gut twisted at that. He was brought back to the real world, when Louis squeezed his hand lightly and Harry quickly went back in his room to grab his wallet, soon walking out with Louis and not forgetting to shoot a text to his mum, saying he'd be at the movies. He didn't even know which movie they were going to, but he was willing to go anywhere with Louis; would follow him to the ends of the Earth, if necessary. Obviousily, he hoped it would never come to that, but if it ever did, Harry wouldn't have to worry. He knows Louis would do the same for him, aswell.  
  
They walked, hands brushing, cheeks blushing, like a couple of proper pre-teens. Only they weren't pre-teens and they should know better than succumbing to petty school crushes. Except, for Harry it wasn't a petty crush. It was love. He knew that, and he knew it was more than a crush the second he caught himself daydreaming about his friends' lips, hands, and oh the things he'd feel. He wanted that _so_ bad. He knew he probably shouldn't though, because here, in the back of the theater, when Louis slyly linked his hand with Harry's, he knew he didn't feel the same. Sure, Louis was holding his hand a bit more than usual lately, but that was Louis. Louis had always been the more affectionate one - the one to get more physical without thinking twice. It was their dynamic and even their families knew it. Harry was quite on edge, though, because Louis was on Harry's left. Meaning that he was holding his hand with the scars. Meaning that if he decided to move two inches upwards, he would feel them and Louis knows Harry too well to think it was an accident. As the movie started, Harry realized he already had forgotten what it was about. He was too busy trying to calm his pulse (or stop it completely if necessary) when Louis absent-mindedly started stroking up and down on the inside of Harry's wrist with his thumb. He stayed completely still, freezing every bone in his body, hoping and praying that Louis hadn't felt the small cuts.  
  
This was the moment Harry knew he fucked up.  
  
Louis stopped stroking, leaving his thumb right on top of the cuts. He pressed lightly with his thumb and was about to flip Harry's wrist over to inspect when Harry not-so-subtly coughed, into his left hand, yanking it out of Louis' grasp. Louis was startled, but when Harry looked over to him there was a bit of hurt laced into his eyes. At this, Harry's heart dropped, and he put both hands in his lap, and continued to watch the movie. Not only could he not recall the film description, but at this point he couldn't even remember the title. All that was playing through his head was Louis' hurt eyes, as he wondered what Louis was thinking. Was he speculating? Was he thinking about those scars he felt? Did he think it was just an accident? It killed Harry not knowing what Louis was thinking, because they always just had that bond. No matter what situation they found themselves in - their fault or not - they always knew the thoughts that were going on in the other's head. It didn't even take that long to develop that kind of connection, either. It was just when they met and realized how truly in sync they were despite the small age difference. They always seemed to hold the same values, same thoughts, same opinions. Now, they weren't copies of each other, mind you. They had their own personalities entirely. However, if they found themselves agreeing on every other thing, well then who could blame them? They'd been inseperable since the youngest of ages and now, almost six years later, they haven't changed much. Well, besides the whole Harry-is-in-love-with-his-male-best-friend thing. That of course, remains an issue.  
  
The movie finished and despite only paying attention to about half of it, Harry quite liked it.  
  
"It was cool, yeah?" Louis asked him. Harry knew he was just trying to make conversation for the sake of it; the distant look in his eyes saying it all. Regardless, Harry nodded. They exited the theater silently (unlike the yelling adults who just came out of some weird movie that didn't really belong in the theaters) and it was only about halfway through their walk back home, when Harry decided he had become uncomfortable with the silence.  
  
"Are you alright, Louis?" He asked, placing his hand on the small of his back. Louis snapped out of his thoughts at the contact, turning tp face Harry with some sort of sadness in his eyes. His eyes flickered to Harry's extended arm, and then looked at Harry in the eyes again.  
  
"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"  
  
That was unexpected.  
  
At the same time, though, it wasn't.  
  
"Of course," Harry replied, tightening his arm around Louis' waist and pulling him close. He kissed him on the top of the head and he would be lying if he said that he didn't take a bit of glee from the fact that any passerby probably thought they were a couple. Louis gave a weak smile, and Harry knew the matter wasn't resolved. Neither of them said anything more, though, and that was that. They walked the rest of the way in a tedious silence, because Harry knew if he asked what was wrong, Louis would want to inspect his wrist again. He made a mental note to wear long sleeves tomorrow.  
  
****  
  
Harry had no doubt in his mind that his mum loved him. Although she often had a lot on her plate most of the time, causing her not to pay attention to Harry as much as she would like, he knew she loved him. She knew he loved her. They all, including Gemma, loved each other. They had always been a close family. Through thick and thin, they were there for each other. And being as though the Tomlinson's lived right across the way, when Anne was in dire need of an emergency babysitter, or an extra pair of hands real quick, Jay Tomlinson was the one she called.  
  
So, all in all, Harry knew he was loved.  
  
So why didn't it feel like it?  
  
He sat on the edge of his bed yet again, with his razor clutched in his right hand. He knew his mum was at work and would be home late that day, so he had plenty of time to do what he'd been absolutely dying to. The day before he had gone to the movies with Louis, and he didn't think he'd felt so horrible in his entire life. A small hatred towards himself now engulfed his entire being to the point where he felt it in his bones, even. His body was weighed down with the reality of him being himself. He couldn't even understand why he was so worked up, is the thing. His life was relatively simple. He had his fair share of ups and downs, no doubt, but at this moment in time, his outside world was pretty close to average. At the same time, however, it was anything but. Harry's heart felt weighed down with all of the hatred and anxiety some other entity cooked up and planted in his mind. He was downright miserable, and although he knew he was going to the beach with Louis the next day, he needed to do some physical damage. So what if he left one more scar?  
  
Okay, two more. No one will notice.  
  
Three more. Not a big deal. It's okay. A few more won't hurt.  
  
Four - five, wow, five more cuts in addition to the two he already had. It still wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Not in this lifetime, not in the next. So as he made the sixth cut on his wrist, watching the way the blood dripped on either side, he took a certain satisfaction at the way his heart felt lighter and his shoulders a bit less heavy. The six new cuts were bright red - a slight contrast to the crimson eminating from each of them. The not-so-deep ones just had small bubbles of blood on them while the deeper ones had blood actually slipping from the sides. Harry sat there for a few minutes, just speculating the scene before him. After there was blood dripping all over his forearm, he decided to clean everything up, yet, not putting on a long-sleeve since no one was home besides him. He put on a normal tee shirt and loved the way he could see the scars from the corner of his eyes when he sat down in the living room to watch TV. Some mindless show was on about how chocolate was made. Harry wasn't really watching it, though, just thinking of what the hell he was going to wear to the beach tomorrow. Or he could just not go. That would be fine. He could call Louis and cancel. Louis might think that was a bit suspicious, but hey, it's all good.  
  
Harry didn't even register what he was doing, still on a weird energy trip from the several scars, as he picked up his phone, dialing Louis' number. Louis would understand. He would, wouldn't he?  
  
"Hazza!" He exlaimed after two rings. Harry's heart dropped to his stomach, "I haven't seen you in forever, mate!"  
  
Harry chuckled, "Lou, we just went to the movies two days ago."  
  
"Really? Only two days? Oh. Anyhow, what's up?"  
  
Harry was silent for a second, a sudden unsuspecting nervousness coming over him. Goddamit, why was everything such a big deal all of a sudden?  
  
"Oh, actually, I've been meaning to tell you - Niall, Zayn, and my cousin Liam are gonna be joining us to the beach tomorrow. You remember them, right? Niall and Zayn go to school with us, and Li-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I remember." Fuck Harry, why can't you just get your fucking shit together?  
  
The line was silent for a couple of seconds and Harry could practically hear Louis frowning, "Is everything alright, Hazz?"  
  
_No, everything isn't fucking alright, I just want you to run over here and kiss me because I have no idea what the hell I'm doing,_ Is what Harry didn't say.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I- just I don't think I can make it to the beach with you tomorrow," There was a silence on the other line and wow it was actually possible to feel like even more shit than he just did, "I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling well. I don't think I would survive a trip to the beach, to be honest," Harry added a dead chuckle at the end, not easing the mood at all. He knew he was being shady as fuck.  
  
"Harry," Louis said, taking on a more serious tone, "Is everything alright?" His voice was a lot more suggestive this time, and not in the good way.  
  
"Yeah, I just-"  
  
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Harry was unresponsive, not knowing exactly what to say. His throat was clogging and he was close to tears and in that moment he hated himself so much because he couldn't even cancel simple plans without acting like a complete lunatic.  
  
After about a minute of silence, Louis finally spoke up, "Okay, I'm on my way over. Is your mum there?"  
  
Harry couldn't believe that he forgot how great of a friend Louis actually was, "N-no, she's coming home soon, though."  
  
"Is it okay if I sleep over?" Louis asked, and Harry found it really funny that he asked because he usually just came over. Not that Harry minded at all.  
  
"Yeah, of course-"  
  
"Perfect. I'll see you in two." The phone line went dead without another second's hesitation. Harry pocketed the phone, running to his room quickly to change into a long-sleeve tee. He didn't completely inderstand why Louis had the sudden urge to come over all of a sudden, but he figured it had something to do with his odd behavior recently. He couldn't help it, though. He was just going through such inner turmoil that it became a regular difficulty to translate his inner feelings to the outside world. Oh well.  
  
It wasn't even a minute later that Harry heard the door open from his room. He quickly went out to greet none other than Louis Tomlinson himself, in grey trackies and a red fitted tee-shirt. He also had on a grey beanie and Harry made sure to take a mental picture of him, because this was by far one of Louis' better clothing choices. Louis closed the door behind him, and the second they made eye contact, Harry detected something sad in his eyes. Without a word, Louis came over and enveloped Harry in a tight embrace and - wow, Harry did not realize how much he needed this. He let himself sink into Louis' warm and strong arms, inhaling the scent of fresh laundry and detergent, stifling laughter at the thought of Louis doing laundry.  
  
He remembers one day when he went over to Louis' house to do his laundry because his machine was broken, and when he aksed Louis to start the cycle, he was completely hopeless.  
  
"Turn the dial, then pull on it to make it start," He commanded Louis. He had left to get his own clothes and when he came back, somehow the washing machine had overheated. Yes, that's right. Louis had caused the _washing machine_ to _overheat._ Something only Louis knew how to screw up, he's sure.  
  
But now, in Louis' arms, he decided to joke about that another time, because he felt like there was something that needed to be said. Whether or not on his part he wasn't sure of.  
  
"I-I have noticed, you know," Louis starts with, after a few seconds of nothing but being held by each other. Harry's heart skipped a beat. What did he mean he's noticed? Noticed what?  
  
Harry remained silent, but nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of Louis' neck, as if maybe he pressed hard enough, this bound-to-be conversationg would dissipate.  
  
"You seem alot more...down recently," He paused before quietly adding, "Why won't you just talk to me?" Louis started sweeping his hand up and down Harry's back, as he felt his heart drop to his stomach. Harry tightened his arms around Louis, confessing that he didn't know. There was so much more that he wanted to say. He wants to tell Louis how he just hates his life so much sometimes, even though it's not even that bad from an outsider's view. He wants to tell Louis how he hates himself and everything that comes along with being him and how he wishes he could change into a completely different person. He wants to tell Louis how much he loves him and how much he's dreamed about having Louis' lips on his own. That's exactly what it is, he reminds himself. A dream. Nothing more than a mere fantasy locked up in the deepest parts of his subconscious, not allowing it to form in his throat and vocalize it's self.  
  
"Harry," Louis cupped his hands around Harry's face and brought him so that they were now eye-to-eye, "You know I-I care for you, right? You're my best friend. I don't know what's going on, but I just. I want to help." He bit his lip when he stopped talking, looking Harry right in the eyes. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Harry looked down, and much to his dismay, Louis brought down his hands to meet Harry's waist. Harry rested his forehead against Louis' and that one incessant thought was brought to the forefront of his mind again: _This isn't very platonic, is it?_  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry finally said, although it was quiet. He was trying to keep back completely uncessary tears.  
  
"Don't be sorry, love. I just want you to be happy, yeah?"  
  
Harry just nodded, because he wasn't sure of what else to say. Again, they stayed like that, not really saying anything. Harry would've deemed this perfectly normal for the two of them, but there was something sort of... off. Something was shifted in the atmosphere, but it wasn't necessarily bad. It might've had to do with the way Louis' gaze shifted from Harry's eyes to his mouth more than once. It's totally normal. Absolutely. Louis was now keeping a locked gaze on his lips and when Harry parted them slightly to take the breath he hadn't been realizing he was holding in, Louis also parted his lips slightly and then looked up to meet Harry's eyes. According to every romantic comedy ever, this is the part where they kiss. This is the part where Louis confesses his long-term love for Harry and Harry becomes endeared and surprised, and then they make out, probably have sex, and end up in a commited relationship filled with nothing but light kisses and gentle touches.  
  
Harry knew better than to expect to find himself in a romantic comedy.  
  
What he got, though, was something comepletely unexpected like many moments with Louis were recently.  
  
"You're really beautiful, Harry."  
  
What? Looking around his brain for example after example after example, Harry couldn't remember one time when anyone called him beautiful. Sure, he's gotten "fit" and "pretty eyes" before, but "beautiful?" The term was so simple, yet so intimate at the same time. It was a whole new level of compliments.  
  
Harry pulled his head back slightly from their embrace, "T-thank you." He's not ready for this. No, absolutely not. He's already a jumbled and confused mess from his own internal conflict he doesn't need another reason to feel like he's "out of the loop" so to speak. Louis took his arms from around Harry's waist and dropped them awkwardly at his sides, using one hand to stratch the back of his neck.  
  
"Sorry, I just - I don't really know what I'm doing. I - sorry," Is what he ended with, taking a few steps back.  
  
What the hell is going on?  
  
"Umm, I think I'll just be going back now. The four of us are still heading to the beach tomorrow if you want to come. You don't have to. I was just wondering," He stopped as his back reached the front door, and he turned around, startled by the sudden breach.  
  
"I'll see you later, Harry."  
  
And with that, Harry went back into his room, more unsettled than he'd been in awhile.


	3. Chapter 3

Many experts say that the inability to sleep can come from any number of things. Really, it all depends on how you're living your life. Not being able to sleep can result from hunger, naps taken earlier in the day, to changing hormones. For Harry, though, it was none of the above. He was currently laying in his bed, trying to get his brain to just stop thinking. No matter what he'd try, his thoughts would never cease to stop jumping around like shining a flashlight in a room full of mirrors. It just goes on and on and on and suddenly, you can't tell where the light started and where it stopped. Or if it even stopped at all. These were the thoughts going through Harry's brain at 1:22 in the morning.  
  
He couldn't sleep, and he didn't want to call Louis, which was a first. It'd been a few weeks since that odd moment they had at Harry's house, which would've been completely normal if it weren't for the underlying feelings they were experiencing underneath. He missed Louis, that was for sure. They had gotten a bit more distant recently and, okay, Harry would be lying if he said that it didn't contribute to the multiple scars on now both wrists.  
He sat up in his bed and clicked on the lamp by his bedside. His stomach twisted as he opened the drawer to his bedside table and pulled out a small pencil casing. He took the razor out and rolled up his sleeve - a regular practice by now, believe it or not.  
  
He applied his normal routine of cutting, watching, then cleaning - which all in all, wasn't very normal in any way. Oh well.  
  
It's not like he was trying to kill himself or anything.  
  
****  
  
It had been a whole two months since Harry's last actual hangout with Louis. Sure, they went to the movies together, still hung out at each other's houses frequently, yet Harry didn't count those. They weren't the same. Every since That One Odd Encounter Which They're Probably Both Overthinking, nothing had been quite the same. It wasn't awkward, no, but it was similar to two people standing on a cliff, ready to jump. You both know you're going to jump, yet neither of you are actually willing to take the step and just jump. You're waiting on them and they're waiting on you. Harry didn't exactly know what their "jump" was (actually, he did, he just didn't want to admit it), but he knew that it was bound to happen sometime. Like when they were sitting in Harry's room, talking about what they were going to do for Christmas this year. It was easily Louis' favorite holiday, but Harry much preffered Halloween. So, naturally, Louis had been much more excited than Harry when ordering Christmas-y themed decorations online.  
  
"Harry, come look at this," Louis said as he sat cross-legged with the laptop perched on his thighs. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't totally jealous of that laptop. Regardless, Harry scooted closer to look at Louis scrolling around a green Christmas jumper he found on some weird website.  
  
"Don't you already have plenty of Christmas jumpers?" Harry asked, completely serious.  
  
"One can _never_ have too many Christmas jumpers, young lad. Plus, it's my favorite colour," He added, continuing to scroll down the site.  
  
"What? Since when has green been your favorite colour? I thought it was red?"  
  
"Well, yeah, red is great and everything, but," His face took on a whole new level of fondness as he gazed at Harry, "I like green." And okay. That was that. Louis liked green. Harry couldn't help but remember that his eyes were green. Green. Nice one.  
  
Harry just looked away, and continued scrolling through his mobile Tumblr app as Louis somehow made his way onto Youtube. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry heard some man talking through the screen. Sighing, he set down his phone, and joined Louis so that they were both watching the man Harry had never seen before. He was talking about how he broke his house or something and, actually, he was quite funny. Louis was saying something about how this was one of his favorite Youtubers and can you believe he only lives in London? Astonishing.  
  
The man on the screen made a point about how he always cracked his kitchen floor tiles, and Louis pointed to the screen and exlaimed, "That is so you! You do that all the time!"  
  
Harry scoffed, "I do not!"  
  
"Harold, do I even need to go to your kitchen to see the multiple cracked tiles on the floor?"  
  
Harry crossed his arms and pouted, "I am not _that_ clumsy, Louis."  
  
But of course, since luck is always on Harry's side, as he says that he tries to reach over Louis to get his glass of water on the nightstand, and knocks it over onto his carpet. That'll show him.  
  
They both just sat there for a second, staring at the glass cup that was now on the floor, before exchanging glances and laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing, and Harry didn't remember the last time he laughed so hard. It wasn't even that funny, which was the thing. It wasn't that funny at all. For some reason, though, at that particular moment in time, nothing could be funnier.  
  
"You have the worst coordination of all time!" Louis shouted in-between laughs.  
  
"Don't act like you don't love it, you wanker," Harry claimed, burrowing his face in the crook of Louis' neck. This was nice. The tension of forever ago was slowly starting to wash away, and Harry liked that. It was good.  
  
Louis hooked his finger under Harry's chin and brought it up so they were face-to-face, "I do love it." He claimed although he was still suffering from the aftershocks of his fit of hysterics.  
  
What happened next wasn't planned. Not in this life time, nor the next - it wasn't planned. Was it the "jump" they needed? Was it that one final grab-my-hand-let's-do-this-thing that they were searching for? Harry had thought that maybe after all they didn't need to dive off of that cliff, because the tension had taken it's own route. It was dissipating, slowly but surely, nevertheless, it was going away. So, when they were confronted with such an unprecedented situation, neither of them spoke for a moment. Neither of them spoke after Louis' lips had finally met his, after Harry's wish had finally been granted, after they had still long forgotten the glass on the floor. It all happened so quickly; so fast that it wasn't anticipated by either and Harry started to think that it was maybe just an accident. It had to be an accident. It had to be because Louis didn't love him and Louis wasn't gay.  
  
Louis was into girls. Sure, him and Eleanor weren't talking that much anymore, but that had nothing to do with his sexuality. Right?  
  
The small notion of a kiss happened so fast, they both pulled away so that they were just staring at each other in the eyes - Louis just as surprised as Harry or maybe even more so. Instead of jumping out of the bed, completely appaled, Louis just kept his gaze on Harry and his lips, leaving an extremely confused Harry at his side.  
  
"Sorry," Louis apologized so quietly that Harry hardly heard him.  
  
"Do you... Can-" He stopped in the middle of his sentence, and Harry was just about to scoot away when Louis suddenly crashed his lips onnto Harry's once more. Okay. Maybe it wasn't an accident this time. Instead of closed-lip on closed-lip, though, they both had their mouths slightly parted, so that they were legitimately kissing. Louis took his hand away from the laptop and moved it to the back of Harry's neck, pushing him just a bit so the kiss deepened.  
  
The entire world exploded. Okay, well, it didn't, but that's what it felt like to Harry. The entire world exploded with everything he didn't or couldn't say, yet at the same time, time stood still. It was this indescribable feeling - something out of any romcom, he was sure. Harry had imagined every scenario of kissing Louis there was, but he was not prepared for this. Their lips fit so perfectly together, and it was nothing short of magical. Louis finally pulled away, though, and Harry was left slightly dizzy. Fuck.  
  
"Sorry," Louis said again, and Harry didn't understand why he was apologizing. This was most likely the best moment of his life.  
  
"I-I liked it," Harry mentally facepalmed because of how stupid that sounded. He started blushing, yet Louis just placed his hand along Harry's jaw and connected their lips once more. Yup. Harry could definately get used to this. Oh yeah. However, there is no true goodness without badness, right? There's always a bit of darkness in the light, innit?  
  
"Good," Louis said softly as he pulled away yet again (much to Harry's dismay), "'Cause I do too." They simply smiled at each other, and Louis connected his forehead with Harry and took a deep breath. His closed his eyes slightly, but then squinted at something Harry wasn't looking at, because he was too transfixed on Louis.  
  
"What's that?" He asked, pulling away slightly.  
  
"What's what?" Louis gently took Harry's arm, but the god damn kiss they just shared had left Harry spinning, so unfortunately, he didn't pull away his arm in time. Louis pulled the sleeve up off of Harry's arm and gasped, as Harry quickly retracted it.  
  
The next few seconds were the most painful.  
  
There were no other words to describe the sadness, anger, and overall confusion that were laced in Louis' eyes. If Harry thought those other seconds were slow, then man oh man was he in for a surprise. Harry even swore the light dimmed and the skies got grayer, but when he shot a glance outside, it turned out they were actually the same beautiful shade of blue that they were a mere minute ago. A mere minute ago when everything was okay, when things were getting better, when Harry didn't have to worry if he would ever get to have Louis as his own because it turned out that Louis quite fancied him, as well. Things were going to get better - but, of course, because of Harry and his streak of unfortunate events, Louis found out. There was no backtracking now. It was all on the table. He should have felt his fucking sleeve riding up his arm as he changed his position in bed; he should've worn a longer T-shirt, or out his arms under the cover, or worn a large sweatshirt. Fuck everything. Fuck it all, really.  
  
"It's nothing," Harry weakly replied.  
  
"Harry, please-"  
  
"Harry! Are you here?" Harry heard his mum calling from the front door. He rushed to his bedroom door and opened it slightly, just poking his head out.  
  
"Louis and I are in here, mum."  
  
"Okay, sure thing. Your sister is coming by to visit later on, so make sure your room is clean and all of that," She announced, coming up to give Harry a kiss on the forehead, waving a "hello" to Louis, and returning to the living room. Harry closed his door slowly and turned toward Louis again. He was looking down, laptop closed and put on the bedside table and Harry wonders when that happened. Louis was picking at some fringe on Harry's sheets and after about a second, he looked up with glassy eyes.  
  
"I just want to help," He said, voice strained. And, okay, so what if Harry felt his heart shatter into a million peices at that fragment of a sentence? No big deal. Nope. Not at all.  
  
He couldn't take it anymore. The pain, the confusion, the anger. It was all getting too much. He wanted it to end swiftly, whether by offing someone else or offing himself he wasn't sure. He just wanted it all to stop. What he meant to do was walk over and sit down with Louis and dicuss all of this like rational adults. What he didn't mean to do was sink down against his bedroom door and put his face in his hands, trying to will everything away. He didn't even know what was happening, but he felt Louis' strong arms arap around him like they had so many times before. Only this time it was different. Yet, better. Much better.  
  
"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry quietly confessed, hoping that Louis didn't hear the break in his voice. Forgoing another sentence or two, Louis simply hugged him tighter and Harry may or may not have let a few tears slip.  
  
****  
  
It was the end of the night, and Harry was starTing to feel slightly better. It wasn't any huge improvement from that morning (in some ways he even felt worse) but Louis was helping him to feel better. Rather than make everything sad and give Harry a lecture on being safe and respectful to his body, he made Harry a cuppa, and they had a surprisingly relaxing conversation about Harry. Not necessarily the scars, but they weren't exactly avoiding that topic, either. Once it came up, though, Louis took Harry into his arms and let him confess everything he would allow himself to.  
  
Louis knew that Harry was with holding pertinent infirmation, yet he didn't comment on it. That's thing Harry loved about Louis - no matter what facade Louis wore, he would always break it down when it came to caring for others. He held Harry in his arms, told him he loved him and how much he cared for him and even threw in a few, "when you hurt, I hurt too" and several variations thereof. Louis made _sure_ that Harry knew that he wanted him to stop hurting himself. However, he was always patient with Harry. Sure, he might've let a few tears slip here and there while inspecting Harry's cuts - old and new alike - but he was patient. Harry loved it. He loved Louis. He always loved Louis, but now that Louis kissed him and touched him and held his hand - it was a deeper kind of love. A more meaningful one, for sure.  
  
Despite all of the loving he received from Louis, the scars didn't fade. Sure, they decreased in size from time to time, but they didn't stop. Rather than cutting his wrists, though, he started leaving marks on his thighs, making it so they were less noticeable.  
  
It was going to be okay, though.  
  
At least that's what Louis told him, as they lay in bed, face-to-face, sharing kisses in a secret fashion that no one knew about besides them.  
  
Louis had his arms wrapped securely around Harry's waist, and Harry had his face buried in Louis' chest.  
  
It was moments like these where Harry couldn't imagine ever cutting himself ever again. He could hardly comprehend how he would ever want to hurt himself when he had someone right here who could save him from the demons that he was forced to share a brain with. He suddenly became afraid of them, though, and snuggled further into Louis' chest as a result. Louis just kissed the top of his forehead, breathing out a sigh. What would Harry ever do without this boy? He didn't know. He felt sorry for the him in an alternate universe where he never moved from Manchester, and never met his beautiful Louis. Maybe he had a different Louis. Surely, this question was worth asking.  
  
Harry tilted his head up so that he was looking at Louis, and sending the contact, Louis angled his tired eyelids downwards.  
  
"What would happen if we lived in a parallel universe where we never met?" Harry asked, and Louis immediately furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. That could never happen," He commented back.  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to furrow his brows, "Why not?"  
  
Louis looked at him for a long few seconds before answering, "Because I'd always find you. I'm any universe." He stated it as if it was a fact. As if he was reciting the weather forecast, or reading the headline of today's paper. However, the thought of being comforted by Louis in every universe sent an odd calmness over Harry. Forgoing a response, he kissed Louis sweetly on the lips, and nuzzled back into the warmth of his chest.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Louis kissed the top of his head once more and secured his arms tighter, "I love you too."  
  
And if Harry fell asleep with the world's largest smile on his face, well, then. No one would have to know, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3 I appreciate it. Any and all feedback is surely appreciated, and ALWAYS feel free to request stories! Also, I do suffer from Clinical Depression, so this is how it felt for me before I realized I had it. Many emotions, though, were hard to describe, but I tried my best. Thanks anyways and have a lovely life :)


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